Still, he had a job to do, and that job was to distract what looked like 50 puckheads with his muscle car so he could save his cousin’s lame ass.
Priorities.
He made a show of gunning it toward the crowd, chuckling as all eyes went wide with envy as he drove close to them, revving his engine loudly. When he rolled to a stop and put it in park, he grabbed his tools and got out, glaring at their hopeful expressions.
“Boss 429 Mustang,” he shouted over the rumbling engine, gesturing to the car. “Get one scratch on her, and I’ll hogtie you to her and drag you over the asphalt until you die.”
There were excited cheers from the guys who had experienced Arlo’s rescue missions before, but a few new faces seemed more scared than excited.
Good.
He looked around the parking lot, his eyes searching for Arlo and his piece of shit car, but they landed on a pair of wide, golden eyes and a head full of soft, golden curls.
Harrison felt like he had been suddenly slammed against the boards hard enough to knock the air out of his lungs.
No one in this godforsaken town would recognize him other than Arlo.
Arlo, and Jett fucking Fraser.
Harrison spun around, ignoring the uncomfortable tug in his bad leg. He knew there wasn’t a point in trying to hide his face because Fraser had recognized him—it was apparent from the way his eyes lit up—but he was going to get out of there as fast as he could.
Ignoring the hooting and revving engine, he picked a direction and walked as fast as he could, determined to find Arlo so he could throttle him.
The chances of running into Fraser, here of all places, was zero.Nil. He was supposed to be anywhere but in Nova Scotia, too busy being an NHL star to bother coming home. This wasn’t even Kentville, theirsharedhometown, this was fucking Windsor.
Some would argue that it was in the middle ofnowhere.
He didn’t personally know Fraser. He was a few years his junior, and they had never met in person, but they had gone to the same high school and probably skated on the same damn lake in the winter.
Hockey was in Harrison’s blood. He still watched every game and paid attention to all the up-and-coming rookies trying to make something of themselves, and he would be lying if he said it hadn’t hurt to see Fraser take the hockey world by storm.
Watching Fraser over the last few years had been his own personal hell. It was like he was being taunted with images of what his life could have been had he not ruined it by getting in his car that night.
It was exhausting to have his story dragged through the mud each hockey season. All the parallels between them and the small age gap had sports reporters gushing every time the kid got on the ice.
Harrison couldn’t stand it—and he couldn’t stand Jett Fraser. He wanted his story to die so he could fade from history, but it was impossible when Nova Scotia’s literal golden boy was always on the front page of Canadian sports news.
Harrison left the crowd and quickly located Arlo, who was parked far enough away to keep from drawing attention. He angrily strode toward him, and the second Arlo saw his furious expression, he started sputtering apologies and ran behind his car to keep the vehicle between them.
“Arlo—”
“Don’t kill me!”
Harrison threw his bag of tools on the hood of Arlo’s car hard enough to dent it. “Come here, little cousin.”
Arlo’s blue eyes were wide with panic, but he stood his ground…from behind the car. “He was talking about you—”
“If this car isn’t broken, I swear to fuck—”
“He looked bummed out about being here, so I was trying to cheer him up—”
“Arlo Townsend—”
“It’s Jett Fraser, Harrison! There’s no way you don’t want to meet him—”
The look he sent Arlo must have been impressive because his mouth closed with a snap of his teeth, and he finally stopped talking.
Harrison leaned against the car, trying to get weight off his leg, which was burning badly. This was bringing up too much crap to the surface. He couldn’t think about hockey without thinking about his dead brother and his leg being broken in three places. He couldn’t think aboutJett Fraserwithout thinking of everything he wasn’t.
